


Flesh

by Raevanous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Angst, Anxiety, Disordered Eating, Eating Disorders, I'm trying not to glorify, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, So much angst, at least not at first, if you think this would trigger you, mental health, okay more tags later, please don't read, so it's not gonna be super fluffy, stay safe, supportive!viktor, tw, viktuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11327148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raevanous/pseuds/Raevanous
Summary: Viktor was used to finding others unsurprising. That is, when he bothers to notice others. Viktor couldn't, however, ignore Yuuri Katsuki as his body gave out and began a plummet towards the cold cement. Viktuuri.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm still trying to figure out this website, as I've just switched over to AO3. So if the formatting sucks I'm sorry! This is my first story for this fandom so be gentle dudes.   
> also check me out on tumblr, same username!

Yuuri.

Yuuki Katsuki was good with numbers. He could figure a 15% tip at a restaurant with ease, or multiply three digit numbers in his head. His family and few friends thought it was a cool trick, and sometimes it was a bit of a conversation starter.

  
But those weren’t the numbers that mattered to Yuuri. He was more concerned with calories. Calories burned, consumed, skipped, and cried over. He knew how many calories were in a pork cutlet bowl, how many calories an hour of figure skating burned, and how many calories he could eat in a day to make his goal weights.  
It’d grown into something of an obsession for Yuuri. But it hardly felt like a problem to him. He was merely managing his appearance. As an ice skater, it was very important that he maintained a healthy weight. And a slightly lower than healthy weight would only help him make his jumps better, and look better in his skating outfits.  
It was also something for Yuuri to focus on. He was quick to fall into bouts of depression and resurfacing was growing harder and harder each time. He needed something to keep himself grounded.

  
Losing weight was easy, in theory. Create a caloric deficit. Burn more calories than you consume. But it was easier said than done. He was challenging himself, building control and confidence by fighting the need to eat. It was how he had managed to get to his lowest weight ever for the second half of the Grand Prix Finals tomorrow. It was how he finally got his face, which always managed to hold a bit of baby fat, to slim down.  
It was hard at times, for Yuuri to look in the mirror and see any change- he had to rely on the scale for that. But he knew he had made some progress when his mother clutched his cheek tenderly and said that his face looked a touch hollow. He had barely kept the smile off his face, but the happiness that lifted his heart made it that much easier to turn down the pork cutlet bowl she offered in earnest.

  
Yuuri sat on the edge of his bed, stretching gently. He had just finished a very hot shower and was still lazing around in his boxer briefs. Tomorrow was the free skate and Yuuri was so glad Celestino got him his own hotel room this time. The short program had landed Yuuri in third place, better than Yuuri had hoped. Standing up, Yuuri happily walked over to his suitcase and dug out a sweater to wear. Yuuri was feeling way too cold to fall asleep so underdressed.

  
Yuuri yanked the sweater on as he wandered into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The hotel bathroom had a full-length mirror. Something Yuuri was too paranoid to get to his own room back home. He didn’t want his family to think he had become self-obsessed or anything of the like.

  
But he had, in a way. Yuuri didn’t even try to control the urge to inspect himself in the mirror. In public bathrooms, Yuuri didn’t dare look up as he washed his hands. He could watch others fixing their hair or something of the like out of the corner of his eyes, but the thought of doing the same made him blush in shame.

  
Here, alone in his hotel room, he was free to let his eyes bore into his reflection. He looked the same as he did yesterday, but he tried to find differences. Was the horrible fat that liked to cling to his sides gone yet? He slid the soft green material of his sweater up to reveal pale, pale skin.He could admit that his stomach looked a bit concave. He could even admit his skin was starting to pull tight to his ribs.

  
But he was absolutely certain that that was fat collected at his hips. He quickly yanked the sweater down in disappointment.

  
When the fabric of the sweater bunched and pooled he realized something that made him feel a little better. Yuuri remembered quite clearly that he got his beloved green sweater the summer before his last year of high school. Five years ago. Five years ago the sweater was a comfortable fit. Now it hung off his thin frame and seemed fashionably oversized.

  
Feeling lighter physically and emotionally at this little revelation, Yuuri quickly brushed his teeth and jumped into bed. He had a very big day tomorrow and he knew a lack of sleep affected him horribly. Pulling his poodle plushie in close, Yuuri smiled and closed his tired eyes.

* * *

 

Yuuri slept in past Celestino calling him to breakfast. Or rather, he kept his eyes firmly closed and ignored his coach pounding on his door. Celestino gave up after a few minutes and then it was safe for Yuuri to climb out of bed. He couldn’t eat breakfast on a day as important as this. The thought of food weighing him down and bloating his stomach was making him anxious.

  
So instead of focusing on that, Yuuri changed into sweats. He had spied a gym when he walked through the hotel lobby earlier. Exiting his room with a towel and a bottle of water, Yuuri peeked both ways before leaving his room to incase his coach was still lurking in the halls. Lately, he was being more insistent on trying to take Yuuri to meals. Previously, Yuuri could just poke at a bowl of fruit and the man was content. Last time Yuuri was bullied into attending a meal with Celestino, his coach has pushed and question Yuuri’s appetite until Yuuri was a sweaty, nervous mess.

  
Jogging down the stairs in favor of the elevator, Yuuri sighed at the little ways his life was becoming more complicated. To think, once upon a time, "calorie" was little more than a word to him. Something Yuuko or his mother would complain about. He knew his pork cutlet bowls were 900 calories and he knew that apples were 60. Those numbers meant very little to him. But now he knew better, and it had been five years since Yuuri had eaten a pork cutlet bowl.

  
As soon as Yuuri reached the gym, he started up a treadmill. He preferred cardio, fearing the added bulk of muscle. Thirty minutes later, he was breathing hard and his shirt was sticking to his sweaty back. His pace slowed when he felt someone standing behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he nearly tripped when he saw Christophe Giacometti. The older man was watching him carefully, green eyes intense with an appraisal.

  
Thinking the skater wanted the machine, Yuuri reluctantly ended his session and jumped off. He was further surprised when the skater spoke to him.

  
“You’re Yuuri Katsuki, right?” The man asked, his voice deep and pleasantly seductive. Yuuri nodded quickly, his throat feeling too tight with nerves to speak.

  
“I’ve seen some videos of you, but I missed your short program yesterday.You look….different,” Christophe pondered openly. He took a few steps towards Yuuri, closing the distance. “You look...smaller....in person, maybe?”

  
“Oh,” Yuuri’s soft reply was coupled with wide, brown eyes and shallow breaths.

  
The Swiss man laughed charismatically, “Cute.”

  
Spots were starting to appear at the corners of Yuuri’s eyes and he wasn’t sure if it was from his workout or the handsome man standing in front of him.

  
“Leave the poor guy alone, Christophe!” a warm, friendly voice called. Yuuri looked over the Swiss man’s shoulder and there stood his idol. The man he had spent the better part of his life dreaming of. Viktor Nikiforov.

  
Now he really felt light-headed. Viktor’s eyes met his and Yuuri’s heart seized and sputtered pathetically. Viktor stared at him oddly, before switching to a slight smile

.  
“Viktor! Finally, I’ve been looking for you, my dear friend. Let’s have breakfast together,” Christophe exclaimed. He looked back at as if he suddenly remembered Yuuri’s existence. “I look forward to seeing your free skate. Watch mine too, okay?”

  
Yuuri nodded numbly, he couldn’t take his eyes off his idol. Viktor was so much more attractive than what any computer or phone screen could capture. His hair wasn’t a light blonde like it sometimes looked in pictures, but rather an iridescent, flowing silver.

  
Yuuri could feel Viktor’s eyes on him, too, but his mind screamed ugly words at him. Screamed that he was only looking because Yuuri’s chubby looks were so hard to ignore. The voices must have been right, as Christophe and Viktor, his idol, turned and left, talking and laughing happily.

  
Viktor jumped back onto the treadmill with renewed vigor. Maybe if he was bit smaller, a little bit less of a trouble, Viktor would talk and laugh with him, too.

* * *

 

The crowd was roaring. Yuuri was leaning hard against the barrier. He felt unnaturally weak. His eyes struggled to focus despite all his dizziness, as the ice was cleared of plushies and flowers thrown in the wake of Viktor’s free skate.

  
His performance was breathtaking-maybe that was why he felt so light-headed now. He had rushed to the ice as soon as his idol’s name was called and watched in pure adoration. Each quad was executed perfectly, each spin pulled at heartstrings, and each step sequence put even Yuuri’s best to shame.

  
There was no jealousy in Yuuri’s heart. How could you be jealous of someone on a completely different skill level? He was no fool. A beggar saw no purpose in comparing himself to a king.

  
When Yuuri made it into the Grand Prix Finals, he had some small hope that he could prove himself to his idol. He was competing with him directly, so in a way, he was competing on the same standing as he had always hoped.

  
But now Yuuri knew for certain that was far from the truth. Viktor still stood head and shoulders above the competition. He strong, lithe form loomed in the distance, god-like.  
Before Yuuri knew what was happening, the ice had been cleared off, and Celestino was snapping his fingers in front of his face.

  
Legs that shook ever so slightly stepped onto the ice. Suddenly noticing the cold, Yuuri shivered violently. He skated out the center of the ice as his track started playing over the speakers. Yuuri could hear Celestino calling supportive words over the music, but Yuuri couldn’t pick apart the words in all his anxiousness.

  
He couldn’t tell which was worse, his empty stomach that was starting to send out painful waves of hunger, or the slight pressure between his eyes and his blurry, shifting vision. Yuuri knew the telltale signs. He had passed out a few times before.

  
He started his program a half second late. He fought the urge to speed through it to catch up to the beat. He needed to focus. He wouldn’t pass out. He had eaten not too long ago. On Tuesday. His closed his eyes through a spin, ignoring how his head also spun. What day was it again?

  
He held his head proudly and his arms barely wavered. His theme this season was “Creation”. He hoped Viktor was watching. He hoped his idol was watching him create.  
Celestino had chosen the music, as usual, but he had thought up the backstory.

  
In this story, he was an artist. A sculptor, to be exact, he worked away, day and night, at the ice. With the tools of his trade, he carved and picked at the heavy, cloudy block. Building by taking away. Stripping layers, yet adding depth, adding worth. Like this artist, Yuuri was making something beautiful from something of little worth- ice and himself.

  
He moved into the second part of his program. His first jump was perfect. The second even better. The last was a quad toe loop, his favorite. The black spots began to crowd out more of his vision. He nearly fell out of the quad but held strong till the end.

  
The track ended, his final pose on his knees, the passionate artist with arms spread, displaying with pure abandon his creation. His new self.

  
The crowd went wild. It was far from the reaction to Viktor’s free skate, but he would probably beat his own best score. Would it be enough to draw Viktor’s attention?

  
His slowly moved off the ice, but first scooped up a plushie shaped like a peach. He waved shyly to the crowd and squeezed the peach to calm his buzzing nerves.  
The cheers and the lightheadedness only grew.

His stamina was impressive, but he shouldn’t have pushed himself on the treadmill so much. Drawing closer to the barrier, the flashing cameras grew impossible to ignore.  
Celestino stood ready to receive him.And so was Viktor Nikiforov.

  
Could it be true? Or did the Russian just happen to be standing near the kiss and cry? He had just received his own scores, after all.

  
As he drew closer, he found that each breath in satisfied his lungs less and less. Finally, his skates left the ice, but by then the black splotched were dominating his vision. Celestino’s voice was booming but impossible to understand.

  
“Yuuri?” This was a different, melodious voice. Yuuri tried to focus for a moment longer. Inches from his face, was his idol, standing with his arms slightly outstretched towards Yuuri. He couldn’t pinpoint the expression on his face.

  
He wanted to answer and to decipher the expression, but his strength was slipping away too quickly.

  
_No_ , he panicked internally. This couldn’t be happening here, not now. But his body wouldn’t listen to him.

  
Instead, it began a plummet to the cold cement ground, his eyelids sliding shut before he could feel the impact.

* * *

 

Viktor.

  
Viktor jumped on his bed in glee. He had put together a very surprising free skate for tomorrow and he was very excited to show it off to this new audience. He was currently in first after the short program, but Christophe was closing in on him. The Swiss man was certain he would beat him this time. Viktor, however, knew this was unlikely. For starters, this was more technically challenging and would earn more base points. Viktor also had a trick up his sleeve. Unlike his free skates at his qualifying competitions, he was going to include a quad in the second half. He had been working on his stamina for this. A quad flip, his signature move.

  
If possible, he jumped with more glee. After nearly kicking a pillow into a lamp, Viktor decided he should call it a night.

* * *

  
Viktor woke early, excitement preventing him from lazing in bed like he liked to do. Changing into a tracksuit, he headed down to the gym. A short workout before breakfast always helped wake him up.

  
But Christophe Giacometti got in the way of that.

  
Upon walking into the hotel faculties, he immediately noticed the Swiss man leering over an Asian man who looked impossibly flustered. Rolling his eyes, Viktor approached.

  
“Leave the poor guy alone, Christophe!” He called out in good nature. When Viktor got close enough, he realized his friend was speaking to Yuuri Katsuki. The crowd surprising Japanese skater, currently third in the leaderboards.

  
Viktor examined him with great interest. His short program had been beautiful but had a slightly shaky feel to it. He had touched down during a triple but landed everything else. On the ice, the skater had an underlying air of mystery and innocent seduction.

  
Off the ice, he was...cute-and sputtering, if not a bit concerningly skinny. Viktor’s eyes zoned in the other skater. He actually was very concerningly skinny. In his sweaty state, his shirt clung to him and Viktor swore he could see the slight outline of ribs. His shirt hung off his collarbones like a shirt off a hanger.

  
Viktor suddenly wanted to reach into his gym bag to offer the other man a protein bar but Christophe distracted him.

  
“Viktor! Finally, I’ve been looking for you, my dear friend. Let’s have breakfast together,” His friend insisted. Viktor nodded easily. He disliked cardio anyways. Christophe paused to say something to Yuuri and Viktor used to opportunity to look the man over again.

  
He was very skinny, yes, but when Viktor focused on something other than his seemingly fragile body, he realized his was beautiful and gave off a very shy and sincere air. His inky black hair was pushed back with sweat and in contrast, his ivory skin nearly glowed. And his eyes. They were a warm and expressive brown. In that moment they seemed tired but in awe.

  
Viktor tore his eyes off of Yuuri when he felt Christophe pulling him away, jabbering in his ear about food options. Viktor allowed the Swiss man to pull him away but let his thoughts stay cemented on Yuuri Katsuki.

  
He was rather intriguing wasn’t he? Viktor could vaguely remember having seen videos of the man skating at previous competitions, but he had been noticeably heavy. Not overweight, but rather holding a youthful layer of chub. It seemed cute and fitting for his young looks. Now he looked slightly older and much slimmer. Viktor wasn’t sure if it was an improvement or not. Then he thought of the outline of ribs through a sweat-stained shirt and swallowed nervously. Definitely not.

  
Viktor decided he wanted to become friends with Yuuri Katsuki. And he regretted not having invited Yuuri to breakfast with them. The skater really could use a meal.  
In the meantime, Viktor decided he could do a bit of information gathering. His first source would be none other than Christophe, seeing as how the man had been conversing with Yuuri.

  
“Is Yuuri Katsuki a friend of ours?” Vikor asked, trying for nonchalance, as Christophe finally pulled them into a cafe he deemed acceptable.

  
“Yuuri? Cute, isn’t he?” Christophe acknowledged easily. “He seems to keep to himself and the public doesn’t know much about him. I was just meeting him then.”

  
“Ah,” Viktor couldn’t mask the disappointment in his voice. Who would he get insider information from, in that case?

  
“Why do you ask? See something you like?” Christophe wagged his eyebrows at Viktor, laughing all the while.

  
“Never have too many friends,” Viktor mumbled weakly.

  
“Well, you have my blessing, even though I saw him first,” Christophe allowed jokingly. “He’s a bit too boney for my taste. The Japanese must take dieting much more seriously than we do.”

  
Viktor stiffened at the comment and wanted to defend Yuuri Katsuki, but Christophe wasn’t wrong. Instead, Viktor tried to confirm something.

  
“He wasn’t so skinny last season, correct?” Viktor implored, trying his best to sound casual. 

  
“Hmm, definitely not.” But Christophe had already moved past the conversation and was examining a menu with much greater interest, not having looked up when he answered Viktor. Letting the conversation fade away, Viktor picked up his own menu.

  
He swore to himself to speak to Yuuri at the next available time but first had to make it through breakfast.

* * *

 

His free skate went off without a hitch. He was able to connect with the crowd and make them feel what he felt with each step. Beaming, he blew kisses with both hands, reveling in how the cheering only picked up in response.

  
Stepping off the ice, he remembered that Yuuri Katsuki was to skate right after him. Viktor silently prayed that he could get out of the kiss and cry as quick as possible.  
He had smashed the record high for a free skate once again. And the scores came quickly- the gods had answered his prayers. He found a spot from the barrier to watch just moments after Yuuri’s track started.

  
Yuuri looked different on the ice than he did in the gym. There was less sweat, for starters. His raven hair was pushed back and gone were his clunky glasses. The simple alterations changed his look from frazzled and adorable to sensual and beautiful. Did the skater know he had this power? Viktor presses himself against the glass in a vain effort to get closer.

  
Yuuri started a half beat late. Or did he? The resulting pace, a barely under the surface franticness, set the mood so well it had to be intentional. His expression was of longing and determination. He was reaching for something he could not have but desired more than anything.

  
Was there even music playing? Viktor wasn’t so sure anymore. Yuuri’s presentation devoured the rhythm and spat out something beautiful and free from any instrumental control. Black hair whipped out of place, framing his face carelessly.

  
He landed move after move on steady legs, fighting through a slight tremor Viktor could see from his spot at the barrier. Was it too much for him? Viktor could see his chest heaving, but the hunger and confidence did not leave his eyes. All his jumps were planned in his second half, a show of natural stamina.

  
Viktor had never watched another skate in such anticipation before. He knew for certain that if Yuuri fell, he would also feel the sting of hard ice.  
But he didn’t fall. He completed his quad toe loop, and Viktor almost didn’t notice how his legs shook and wavered in landing.

  
As the free skate came to an end, Yuuri slowed and lowered himself down to his knees. The skater stretched out his arm. Was what he wanted in reach or was it an act of desperation? His expression was serene, even as his body shook and his mouth hung open to take in as much air as possible.

  
The stadium exploded in applause and a suddenly blushing and shy Yuuri climbed to his feet. Slowly moving towards the gate, he scooped up a plushie and waved to the crowd.  
Wanting to be there to receive him, Viktor ran to the same gate. This would be the perfect opportunity to speak to him. With his endorphins still high, maybe Yuuri would be more confident and willing to talk.

  
As the Japanese skater approached, Viktor realized something was wrong. The man’s eyes were too hazy, and his chest was still heaving. It looked painful. By the time he reached the barrier, Viktor could actually hear his frenzied breathing.

  
He stepped off the ice with legs that shook like dead leaves in the wind. Yuuri’s coach, an American Viktor had never met, was trying to get his attention but was quickly adopting a concerned look.

  
When he began to sway slightly, Viktor could stop himself. He jumped forward, arms outstretched. Empty, tired eyes-on a face that looked much more sunken close-up, met him in mild confusion.

  
“Yuuri?” Viktor vaguely wondered if the other man would mind him calling to him so familiarly. A second passed and the red blush that exertion caused slipped completely from Yuuri’s cheeks. He was deathly white.

  
Another second and those long, long eyelashes were covering warm brown eyes. Yuuri Katsuki’s body began a plummet to the ground, seemingly boneless, like a rag doll.  
Horror overcame Viktor and he leaped to close the distance, barely grabbing the smaller man before his head hit the cement.

  
The crowd went silent. Reporters and other skaters were lined near the gate to receive Yuuri. Besides him, Viktor heard Yuuri’s coach swear under his breath. The older man sunk to his knees near the pair. A single camera flashed.

  
And just like that, the trance was broken and the crowd broke out in panic. Fans screamed and yelled, holding out phones to capture the unconscious skater. Reporters had little more decorum, but much better cameras.

  
Annoyed, Viktor pulled the man in close, and more or less into his lap. The dark head limp against his neck and his bony arms slung lifelessly over his shoulders. Viktor could feel his breath, now slow and steady, against his skin. And he could feel how the boy’s ribs, through both of their outfits, still managed to feel like sharp edges digging into Viktor’s chest. Weaving one arm under Yuuri’s knees and the other under his shoulders, Viktor climbed to his feet. Yuuri was so light that Viktor wondered dumbly if he was hollow.

  
Viktor decided then and there that Yuuri needed his help. He wasn’t leaving the younger man’s side until he was better and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He held his light load closer, suddenly filled with determination, not noticing how the camera flashes only grew in response.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Viktor.

It was several long minutes before security and paramedics were able to push through the crowd. After the paramedic deemed it was fine to move the unconscious skater, Viktor was lead out of the stadium with Yuuri still in his arms. The paramedic and the security guard had both offered to take Yuuri off his hands, but Viktor had insisted.

Viktor, Yuuri, and Celestino- as Viktor had quickly learned was the name of Yuuri’s coach-were now tucked away in a small break room meant for employees of the ice rink. The still dead to the world Japanese skater was under a blanket on a small, beige couch.

After much arguing on Celestino’s part, the paramedic had relented and left Yuuri in their care. Celestino had blamed his student’s fainting on exhaustion coupled with extreme anxiety, and he promised to have Yuuri checked out later.

Viktor stared at his competitor's sleeping face from his spot on the floor in front of the sofa. Yuuri had regained some color, but his dark lashes still rested against his cheeks, fluttering lightly on occasion.

Why had he pushed himself so hard? A ice skater collapsing after a program? He had never seen such a thing. There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of Viktor’s stomach telling him something else was at work.

Celestino was pacing behind him and Viktor considered pestering the man, but knew it wasn’t his place.

“You don’t have to stick around, Viktor,” Celestino pointed out, gruffly.

“I don’t mind,” Viktor mumbled, still gazing at Yuuri’s peaceful but gaunt face.

“Really,” Celestino insisted. “If the kid sees you when he wakes, he might just passed out again. He’s a big fan.”

Viktor struggled to keep his mouth from parting in a giant toothy smile. Yuuri was a fan of his?

“I’d feel better if I could see for myself that he is alright,” Viktor replied calmly, scooting closer, so that his side was against the sofa.

“Suit yourself,” Celestino sighed. “I’ll go get coffee. It might be a long night.”

Viktor relaxed a bit when he heard the door close behind the American. Yuuri flinched in his sleep at the noise but was otherwise unaffected.

Viktor pulled out his phone and pulled up Instagram. Luckily, Viktor had turned off his notifications, otherwise his phone would be beeping nonstop. Both Viktor and Yuuri’s names were trending, and hundreds of people had snapped and unloaded pictures of the night’s proceedings. There was picture after picture of the two. Viktor racing to catch the other. Yuuri’s face just as his eyes’ began to slide shut. A particularly tendering looking picture of Viktor looking down at the unconscious Yuuri caught his interest. Viktor quickly saved the image and clicked his phone screen off.

He hoped this wouldn’t upset Yuuri. Chris had mentioned that Yuuri was a private person. All the photos and probing comments on Instagram would surely bother someone like that. Sighing, Viktor dropped his face into his hands.

Yuuri’s soft breathing was rather soothing, and the skater looked tiny under a heavy wool blanket. Viktor pushed back Yuuri’s bangs and felt his forehead. His skin was clammy and cool to the touch. Furrowing his brow in worry, Viktor pulled the blanket up to his chin and tucked the sides in. He relaxed only after he was certain Yuuri was comfortable. It was the least he could do. As a fellow skater. And a prospective friend. Viktor flushed thinking of how strange his presence must seem to Celestino.

Surely, Yuuri would only been more confused to wake up to him. Possibly annoyed. And how would he feel when he saw the pictures of Viktor carrying him? He wanted to stay with Yuuri, and see him wake up with his own eyes. But suddenly he felt like he should make himself scarce.

A loud bang pulled him from his thoughts.

“Oh, hey.” A young man had slammed the door open, his other hand still easily typing away on a cellphone. “Wait- Viktor Nikiforov?!”

If possible, the man began typing faster. Before he could answer, the man was rambling. “Phichit Chulanont! I’m fan, not nearly as obsessively as Yuuri,” the man joked as his offered his hand to shake.

Viktor threw a glance back at Yuuri, and when he saw Yuuri was still sound asleep he was able to relax and return the handshake.

“I guess those photos weren’t shopped, huh?” Phichit pointed out. He seemed to finally remember Yuuri’s situation when his eyes locked in on the unconscious skater.

Suddenly solemn, Phichit sat down in front on the couch, next to Viktor.

“Has this happened before?” Viktor probed after a few heavy minutes of silence. He had finally found someone who seemed to know Yuuri. Phitchit’s mouth opened slightly before he faltered. He stared at Yuuri’s face as if considering something.

“Why are you here?” Phichit responded with another question.

“I wanted to be sure Yuuri is okay,” Viktor answered honestly.

“But why? We trained in the same rink. I know him well enough to know you two aren’t friends.” Phichit argued, suddenly quite hostile. “I didn’t know if you just feel bad, or if you’re trying to profit off the publicity, but Yuuri doesn’t deserve to be played with him.”

“...You’re right.” Viktor admitted sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him, really. And I do feel bad. But you can never have too many friends, and honestly it seems like Yuuri could use another friend.”

Phichit’s expression softened but he remained silent. “You said that Yuuri is a fan, right? Well, I’m also happen to be a fan of his,” Viktor confessed. His piece that night had been breathtaking and Viktor knew that at the very least, he would follow Yuuri’s career from a distance. “I’m sure we’ll find something to talk about.”

“He f-fainted once before,” Phichit revealed in response. His face was downcast and he was visibly tense. “It was just any other late night at the rink. He said it was nothing, that he was just tired. It seems reasonable enough. That was a year ago.”

“A year ago?” Viktor echoed weakly. Yuuri had been in this condition for a year?

“I didn’t _not_ care,” Phichit stressed. “It was after that that I started to really notice things. He was always counting under his breath. For the longest time I thought it was a coping mechanism for his anxiety. Eventually I put the pieces together and realized he was counting calories. Maybe that doesn’t sound too bad, but there were other things-”

A soft groan from the couch silenced Phichit. After a bit of shifting and groaning, two dull brown eyes were gazing up at the ceiling. Both Viktor and Phichit were holding their breath. A minute passed, and then another. Viktor glanced over at Phichit. The man was also carefully watching Yuuri, and the corners of his eyes were starting to tighten with worry. Viktor gulped. Was he going to be okay? He had no idea what effects fainting had. Before he realized what he was doing, he had reached out a hand and was gently shaking Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri snapped out of it immediately, bolting into a sitting position. The soft groan that escaped him lips before he slumped back down was enough to get Phichit involved.

“Yuuri? How do you feel?” Phichit asked softly.

“Phichit? I-I am fine,” Yuuri mumbled groggily. His hands raked down his body looking for something, and Phichit quickly scooped his blue frames off a coffee table. Pressing the glasses into Yuuri’s hands, Phichit smiled kindly at his friend.

“Thanks, Phichit.” Yuuri smiled back, and his chocolate colored eyes seemed to brighten a bit. Only after slipping on his glasses did Yuuri notice that is wasn’t Phichit’s hand that shook him. “Viktor Nikiforov?”

“Glad you’re awake,” Viktor tried his best to sound casual. Like he hadn’t laid down Yuuri’s limp body on that couch less than an hour ago. Like images of the two weren’t currently trying their best to break the internet.

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri gulped, “Uh, I mean…”

“He wanted to make sure you were okay,” Phichit supplied calmly.

Yuuri only seemed more baffled at Phichit’s answer. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You fainted. After your short program.” Viktor choked out. There had to be something wrong if Yuuri didn’t even remember.

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbled, massaging his temples gently. “Right-no, I remember. It just took me a second.” Yuuri sat up again, but slower this time.

“Maybe you should take it easy,” Viktor suggestly lightly.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Yuuri blushed intensely, and it took Viktor a few moments to realize he was staring. “Uh, I didn’t get much sleep and probably pushed myself little too hard.”

Phichit hummed lowly, looking scared or disappointed, Viktor couldn’t decide.

“We need to talk, Yuuri.” At Phichit’s words, Yuuri’s eyes seemed to glaze over once again, this time with unshed tears. Before Viktor could be sure of what he was seeing, Yuuri ducked his head down.

“I really don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Yuuri mumbled weakly. He had physically pulled away from Phichit, not seeming to notice it brought him closer to Viktor.

Viktor, however, couldn’t focus on anything else. When he had held Yuuri in his arms early he had been completely panicked. Lights and cameras were flashing in his face, and Yuuri felt too cold, and too light in his arms. Now in this dim, musky break room Yuuri looked so young and vulnerable. He was still wearing the costume from his routine, now with a team Japan jacket thrown on top. The jacket was a size or two too big and swallowed up his narrow form. Viktor stared openly, wondering how someone so thin and delicate could look so strong on the ice. More importantly, Viktor wondered how much longer he’d be able to in his condition.

Viktor had no clue how long Phichit spent trying to get his attention.

“Viktor?” Phichit asked in a tone and volume that made it clear it wasn’t the first time.

“Sorry,” Viktor flushed as he pulled his eyes away from Yuuri. “What was that?”

“Do you mind?” Phichit probbed gently, “I think Yuuri and I better talk alone.”

Viktor's head snapped back to Yuuri. He looked just as eager to talk to Phichit as Viktor was to leave.

Viktor stood up anyway, knowing it wasn’t his place. At least not yet.

“You guys are going to be in Russia for a few more days right?” Viktor asked casually, “Don’t be a stranger. I could show you around.”

Phichit smiled and nodded. Yuuri looked perplexed and anxious but blushed all the same. Before Viktor could ponder that, he forced himself to walk out of the room. If he wanted Yuuri to trust him, to be his friend, he needed to give him space. They needed to met on even footing. Confident in his thinking, Viktor was on to the next part of his plan: gathering as much information about Yuuri Katsuki as humanly possible.

* * *

 

Phichit.

 

“Yuuri. _Yuuri_ ,” Phichit pleaded softly, “Just look at me.” A tense silence had permeated the room. Finally Yuuri met Phichit’s eyes, but by then an icy determination had settled into Yuuri.

His lips were tightly closed, as if he had to physically hold in his secrets. And his eyes were clear and calm, a feat his anxiety usually prevented.

“You’re not okay, Yuuri,” Phichit stated firmly, ignoring his friend’s resistance. He had been silent for too long.

Too many times had he not mentioned the skipped meals. The obsessive exercising. The clothes that seems to get looser each time he saw Yuuri. And the counting. _The fucking counting_. Phichit had been skating long enough to recognize the signs of an eating disorder. The pressure to be in the best shape possible was tremendous. Everyone wanted to be the best. To be the first on the ice and the first off. To have the perfect routine with the best jumps. To be lighter and jump higher. The industry practically romanticized eating disorders.

Even a mental illness had turned into a competition. Girls piled into locker rooms to compare their weights, and lived off rice cakes and chewing gum. He had used bathrooms in skating rinks where the person in the next stall was purging shamelessly. Phichit wondered sadly if it had been Yuuri any of those times.

However, there was still plenty of stigma. And not many disordered people lasted long. They got too weak and too tired. He could recall several fellow skaters that just stopped showing up to the rink day, almost as if they had dropped off the face of the universe. He had heard horror stories of heart attacks mid practice.

Despite all these, everything was still swept under the rug. The only thing more untalked about than eating disorders was boys with eating disorders.

Maybe that was part of why Phichit had pushed this off for so long. He had convinced himself that it was his only option. He couldn’t accuse Yuuri of something like that. What if he got offended? What if it was true?

Phichit took a deep breath and strengthened his own resolve.

“ _You’re not okay_ ,” Phichit repeated, letting his pain and worry leak into his words this time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yuuri denied, his lip barely quivering.

“You’re not okay, and you should see a doctor. You _need_ to see a doctor,” Phichit insisted, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Yuuri sneered, a foreign and unfamiliar expression on his face, before pushing Phichit’s hand away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Phichit. I can take care of myself.”

“Obviously, you can’t. If you cared about yourself you’d eat more, workout less, and not count everything!” Phichit didn’t mean to yell, but he couldn’t understand how Yuuri didn’t see it.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yuuri bit out. “I am trying here, okay?”

“Trying to do what, die?” Phichit’s voice softened, “I know things have been rough, but please, Yuuri. Talk to me. Or a therapist or a doctor. Just please talk to someone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine. Y-you don’t understand! It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s the stress. I just needed something to focus on,” Yuuri was pleading now, the nonchalance for just a moment ago nowhere to be found.

“You’re not fine, Yuuri. You’re just not. And you haven’t been for a long time,” Phichit felt the tears pooling up in his eyes and he recognized the burn at the back of his throat. “I should I said something earlier. And I’m so sorry for that. I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri wasn’t listening. He looked a wreck. Pacing the room, his hands were tugging at his hair. Tears were streaming down pale cheeks. His breathing was fast and choppy.

Phichit immediately recognized the panic attack for what it was. He shouldn’t have shouted. He reached out a hand, desperate to help his friend.

Yuuri jumped away from the extending limb like he had been electrocuted. Phichit tried to hide how much it hurt, but the look on Yuuri’s face let him know he had failed.

“Oh geez,” a gruff voice drew Phichit’s attention.

Celestino had slipped in at some point, as stood by the door with drink carrier in one hand and a paper bag in the other. The man looked completely at a loss.

Dropping everything onto the table, Celestino dragged a tired hand through his hair. He was looking anywhere but Yuuri, who was also getting more panicked. An idea must have crossed his mind, and he picked the paper bag back up and dumped its contents onto the table. A few muffins rolled across the surface of the table and one even rolled onto the ground, but Celestino didn’t seem to care.

Without missing a beat, Celestino waved the bag at Yuuri, who snatched it eagerly. Still pacing frantically, Yuuri began breathing into the bag.

Celestino only spoke after Yuuri had calmed enough to sit down. “You’re off the ice until further notice, Yuuri.”

“What?! No-” Yuuri jumped to his feet immediately, swaying slightly.

“Yes, Yuuri. I’m sorry but maybe you need a break. Maybe you could go back to Japan and see your-” Celestion began.

“No. _No_. I’ll go back to Detroit, even if you make me sit out every practice.” Yuuri pleaded with energy Phichit didn’t know he had left.

“Either you go home, get better, and join us next season, or, you see a doctor as soon as we land in Detroit.” Celestino laid out the terms firmly, but Phichit could see how much it was hurting their coach. Yuuri paused.

“What if I go back to Japan and...g-get better in time to finish the season?” Yuuri was barely able to choke out the words and immediately looked like he regretted it. Celestino stared long and hard at Yuuri. Phichit would miss Yuuri horribly but knew this was what was best for his friend.

“The cup of China is in a few months. We can talk then. When you’re better,” Celestino relented finally. Yuuri nodded solemnly before collapsing back onto the couch, and dropping his head into his hands. Celestino moved closer and laid a hand down on the skater’s shoulder.

“I’m really sorry, kid. I’ve been in the business long enough. I should have seen the signs. I guess I was hoping you’d pull yourself out of it. But it shouldn’t have all been on you. And I won’t let it go on like this any longer,” Celestino’s voice was softer and more gentle than usually. Yuuri didn’t reply, or lift his head from his hands, but he didn’t shake off Celestino’s hand either.

The three of them gathered around, trying to find the words to make everything alright again. To make Yuuri alright again.

Eventually Celestino passed out the coffees, and no one pushed Yuuri when he didn’t touch the muffin set in front of him. No one had the courage to push any further that day, lest he truly breaks.

When everyone was finished, and all the trash was collected they finally vacated the break room. Phichit only realized how late it had gotten when they walked out of the rink and were met with the pitch black night sky. The cab ride to the hotel was short and quiet. No one knew what more could be said. And no one knew what needed to be said.

When it was finally just Phichit and Yuuri, heading to their respective rooms, Phichit found himself incapable of the joking and jesting that was normal of him. He couldn’t even spit out a goodnight before Yuuri had closed the door to his room behind him.

Phichit knew this had to be the right choice. But somehow he still felt like everything was falling short.

Letting himself into his own room, Phichit vowed to do better. He had known Yuuri for four years now. When they first met, some might have considered Yuuri a touch chubby. Even then he had been odd about food. Sometimes impulsively eating and sometimes nauseated at the sight of food. As the years past, Yuuri grew more strict with himself and it showed on his body.

Initially people would compliment or praise Yuuri for his dedication. Not that Yuuri ever seemed happy with any comments. Then as time passed and Yuuri got smaller and smaller, the compliments were traded out from whispering and sidelong glances. People treated Yuuri like glass, to afraid to say anything to his face. It was like a bubble had formed around Yuuri. And with no one willing to interfere, it only got worse.

Phichit could barely recognize Yuuri as the stammering but kind skater he met four years ago. He was a skeleton of who he used to be. This newer Yuuri was always focused on something no one else could see. Irritable and tired, even if he refused to admit it.

Phichit had no idea what the future held for Yuuri Katsuki. But he prayed his friend lived long enough to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is chapter 2, nearly 8 months later. Writing this was really hard for me and I apologize for how long this is taking. I'm not a doctor or a therapist, just someone trying to use writing to heal my own wounds, like I'm sure so many you guys are. I wasn't in a good place when I wrote the first chapter, hence the delay. But in light of my own experiences I trying to rediscover my love of writing. And maybe try to write something that will make someone happy while I'm at it. Any comments or critiques are welcome. I understand how damaging it is when literature/film/etc portray eating disorders as something glamorous or desirable in any way. I'm trying my best not to romanticize, but if I'm not doing well enough please let me know.


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